The front door rattled, followed by furious cursing and shouting. Then, nothing. Silence fell over the shack like a heavy blanket, except for the sound of their breathing and the blood rushing in her ears.
“What’s he doing now,” she whispered. “Where is he?”
He lifted off her and held a finger against his lips, telling her to be quiet.
She nodded to let him know she understood.
A thump sounded outside. Bryson grabbed her, stumbling and limping as he pulled her into the corner away from the window. Moments later, a flashlight shone through the glass. They bothscrunched up against the wall, watching the light as it moved around the room. Then it stopped, shining directly on the hole in the closet floor. The light flicked off.
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
He swore softly. Then he pressed his fingers to his lips again, and edged to the window to peer out.
A thump sounded from somewhere beneath them.
She covered her mouth to keep from screaming.
He grabbed her, pushing her in front of him toward the door, motioning for her to be as quiet as possible. He was obviously struggling to keep up, his unbalanced gait evidence of just how badly his hip must be hurting. But they made it to the hall, then hurried into the main room.
He limped to the door and tugged the handle. It moved just enough to prove it wasn’t locked. But there was no way to open it with the couch against it. He motioned for her to put her hand on the knob, then bent down next to her ear. “When I lift the couch, run like hell. Get out of here. Run to the woods and don’t stop for anything.”
“What about you? You can’t run.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Bryson, I can’t leave you—”
The sound of wood splintering in the other room was followed by a guttural yell. “You’re dead, you hear me? I’m going to kill both of you!”
Shots rang out. Glass shattered. He must have shot out the window.
“He’ll be through that floor soon. I need you to run. I need to know you’re safe. Then I’ll run a different way and hide. Our best chance is to split up. Promise me you’ll run and won’t look back. Promise!”
More wood splintered in the other room.
“Promise me.” He lightly shook her.
“Okay, okay. Promise.”
Bracing his left side against the door, he grabbed the bottom of the couch and pulled and tugged, wrestling to get it to move after being wedged in so tight.
A shot rang out.
She ducked, then looked at Bryson, who’d frozen in place. “Are you okay?”
His mouth tight, he nodded. “Get ready. Remember what I said. Run as fast as you can. Don’t stop for anything.”
She nodded and tightened her hand on the doorknob.
He heaved again. The couch finally jerked free and seemed to practically fly upward and over on its side, out of the way. As soon as it cleared the door, she tugged it open and ran. She ran as if the hounds of hell were on her heels, because that’s exactly what it felt like. She didn’t stop until she reached the far end of the clearing. Even though she’d promised not to stop, she did. She had to make sure he was okay. Ducking behind a pine tree, she peered around it at the shack. The front door was hanging open and the headlights didn’t reveal anyone inside. He’d made it. He’d gotten out.
She turned and ran.
ASSOONASTeagan took off running, Bryson dropped to his knees, grimacing as he scooted himself back against the wall, tucked between the door and the stove. He hadn’t lied to her, not at first anyway. He’d thought he could run, or at least limp really fast. With a head start, he would have had a chance. But then things had changed. He slid his hand inside his suit jacket. It came away sticky and wet. That last bullet had hit its mark. He wiped the blood on his pant leg and closed his eyes.
Another shout of rage sounded from the bedroom. The man sure had an anger problem. Bryson wondered what he did fora living, because it would be really hard to hide that type of a temper in a nine-to-five office job. Something or someone would be bound to set him off. Whatever he did, it would be a solo kind of job. He’d have the freedom to set his own hours so he wouldn’t be missed for weeks at a time when he was on a sociopathic spree. He’d have made an interesting profile.
A series of loud thumps and cursing echoed from the back room. The gunman was finally breaking through the floor.
